Same Suit, Different Day
by CalibrationStation
Summary: In the year 2178, a newly-minted Turian detective working for Citadel Security expects he is in for a boring and menial paper-pushing job. But as he climbs the ranks from burglary to homicide and beyond, uncovering secrets unimaginable to the general populace, he realises you shouldn't fear what is behind closed doors as much as who is.
1. Chapter 1 - An introduction

_-A/N- After some reviews that opened my eyes (read: took me apart at an embarrassingly basic level) I re-wrote this chapter. No doubt I'll eventually re-write it again, but until then, enjoy the first chapter of my noir fan-fic!_

* * *

"Spirits, how much did I drink last night?"

In the darkness of a run-down apartment, softly illuminated by the Citadel's artificial light, Garrus Vakarian emerged from his bed, groggy and dreary from... something. Any memory of last night escaped him; if he was lucky, he might have only some new bruises from an encounter in the hallways outside.

Garrus peeled back his covers and swung his feet out of bed. One landed on an emprty Tupari bottle, earning a mumbled curse and a kick from him as he shakily rose to his feet. After getting up, he staggered over to the corner of his room, where his day clothes were lying in a crumpled pile, and dressed himself in the battered suit.

Moving to his kitchen, he snatched a gritty dextro-protein bar from a cupboard and settled down at the small table in the centre of the room, electing to regain full consciousness in comfort. He wanted to crawl back under the covers and return to the comfort of sleep, but instead steeled himself for the day that lay before him, opting to remain in a contemplative quietude.

His gaze ventured to the window over his bed, and as he stared out at the Zakera ward skyline punctuated by the purple glare of the Widow nebula. It was a shame, he thought, that something so beautiful could overlook the wretched hive that was the Citadel; he could see it, but no-one else could. Everyone was preaching something, but they were all dealing under the table - politicians and fraudsters, nationalists and foreign banks, upstanding traders and smugglers. And they were all in it together. As far as he could see, the only honest people on the station were the keepers.

Minutes passed, and he had finished a bottle of Tupari, scrunching it up and throwing it to the foot of his bed, when his omni-tool flared into life with a shrill _beeping _noise, signalling the end of his morning's silence. The sudden burst of noise caught him off-guard, making disabling his alarm more of a task than usual as his hands fumbled for the off-switch.

The irritating noise had not gone unnoticed. Sounds of rustling covers came from behind him as his stare snapped onto the other side of his bed.

The recollection hit him like a mass accelerator round.

"Something wrong, Nihlus?"

In his bed laid a naked female Turian, her… _supportive waist_ and other areas barely covered by his bed sheets as she tilted her head in an inquisitive manner. He mentally chuckled, incredulous that she had _actually_ fallen for that one when they had first met. They had been at the bar in the Dark Star Lounge last night, and she had seemed ditzy. He'd told some little lies to achieve his goal, nothing his mother would _ever_ approve of, but impersonating a known Spectre seemed (and turned out to be) a sure-fire way of getting a happy ending.

Without missing a beat, he replied. "Gotta go to work; you know – Spectre stuff." Suddenly realising his predicament, he continued. "Look, you can, uh, see yourself out right?"

"Sure, but when will I see you again?"

Hesitantly, he attempted to defuse the situation before it went up in his face, "Um," he paused. "…Next month. But as a Spectre, I can't stay in the same place for more than a few days. So you can't come back here alright? I'll call you."

Gaining a nod of agreement, a wave of relief washed over Garrus. He decided now was probably the best time to leave; his shuttle was leaving soon and he needed to get to his new job. He stood and moved towards a closet on the far side of the room, grabbing a frayed jacket and hoisting it over himself.

Briskly pacing to the front door, he made his exit by ambling through the sliding metal and allowing it to shut behind him. After stepping out into the relative filth of the apartment block, he guided his head to rest on the back of the door, eyes on the ceiling.

_That was close,_ his brain chided him, _you can't keep doing this._

Setting off down the corridor, and with a grimace, his conceded, "Today is _not_ going to go well."

Taking note of the environment, he felt repulsed at the disgusting conditions the building was left in. _I'll have to bring this up at the tenants' committee meeting,_ he remarked, realising the state of the place was all too ordinary.

In the Zakera ward, there were thousands of apartment blocks like his: high rise and low cost; dingy rooms with poor lighting; hostile inhabitants and more than one crime scene under investigation. The hallways had a permanent coating of grime, and the lingering stench of a dead body behind a locked door convinced most to keep walking before they became a witness – or worse – a statistic.

That was all the motivation he needed to press on.

* * *

_-A/N- This chapter has gone through a lot of revisions, so please – **be gentle.** Other than that, tell me what you think! I'd love to hear it._


	2. Chapter 2 - The New Guy

_-A/N- It seems I slipped up last chapter, and convinced people the protagonist was Nihlus. To rectify this, I've amended parts of the first chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

_I'd best get moving, _Garrus mused to himself as he set off from his apartment building towards the shuttle station. To get there he had to pass through the 'good side' of town – a district lined with rows of gleaming white estates, parks and children who felt safe playing outside. It was a far cry from the cramped streets and hostile crooks of his neighbourhood which, while not the worst on the citadel, was near the bottom of the pile, with the highest crime rate on the ward.

The change of locale gave him time to reflect on why he lived like he did, and not in the luxury he could. He already knew the answer, of course; his father. He wanted to live by the means his actions afforded him, make a name for himself instead of using 'the great Vakarian name' as a means to privilege. And while his choice of occupation was certainly influenced by his father, he was determined to make it his own, and then one day - when he deserved it - he would allow himself what he had earned. Perhaps it was some foolish pretence of pride or rebellion.

By now, he had reached the shuttle station, and with a quick credit transfer on his omni-tool he was on-board and heading to work. As it took off, his eyed flashed to 'The Starlight Lounge & Cabaret Bar'. He could only assume it was a hangout for washed-up generals and suspended cops to drink and wallow in their self-pity.

The ward's buildings flashed by over the next few minutes when, eventually, the shuttle came close to his final destination: the C-Sec Academy.

When the shuttle finally arrived, the turian quickly disembarked, hopping off of the small transport vessel and landing with a small _thud_. He took in the sight around him; a bustling public square full to the brim with busy people, too engrossed in their own business to care for anyone else. Over them loomed his destination, towering above the rank-and-file like a benevolent deity. Rapidly making his way to the entryway of the colossal academy, his eyes still absorbing the magnificence of the giant structure, Garrus took note of the revolving entryway to the Academy.

_Revolving-door prisons,_ he thought,_ Joram Talid was right after all._

Passing through to find the reception desk, Garrus found himself staring wide-eyed at the amount of civilians hanging around the Academy, waiting to speak to an officer about some problem or other. His eyes eventually rested on a semi-circular desk with a bored-looking, balding human sat behind it, brown eyes gazing wearily at a datapad. Purposefully striding over to the desk, he attempted to catch the clerk's attention with a fake throat-clearing.

"I'm here to take up a position as a detective," Garrus began, his flanging voice audible over the moderate hubbub of the foyer's crowds.

"You're Caldwell, right?" the human replied, without looking up. "Harry Caldwell?"

"No. I'm Garrus Vakarian." the turian's mandibles twitched in annoyance.

"Oh, the rookie. Over there." The clerk ordered as he pointed to the offices. "Go ask for Gilbert Melarn in Burglary, he'll be your new partner. He'll get you your badge, gun and admission forms."

With a nod, Garrus turned on his heels and briskly paced towards the offices, turning the corner quickly to find an open-air office block, packed with rows of cubicles and officers dutifully going about their paperwork. The one part of the job he was _not_ looking forward to, but probably, he conceded, the majority of it.

From his right flank approached a salarian, badge and gun in tow, exhibiting the usual trademark slender body the species was known for, but with a strange cerulean skin tone that Garrus stared at for longer than he cared to admit. Also in the salarian's possession was a stack of forms tucked under his arm, which were promptly thrust into Garrus' arms. As Garrus signed the papers, the salarian extended his free arm with a pleasant smile, waiting for the him to finish and shake his hand.

"Vakarian. Welcome to the force! Gilbert Melarn: Burglary. Call me Gil. I'll be glad to take you on, but just between you and me," the salarian started in the species' natural precise tones as he leaned towards Garrus, lowering his voice, "burglary's the ass-end of nowhere. Don't expect much 'action', as the humans say."

A chuckle escaped Garrus' throat as he grasped the Salarian's hand and shook it firmly, responding, "Thanks, Gil; I'm happy to be here – and call me Garrus."

"Will do. Now, let's take you to get outfitted."

* * *

The C-Sec stocks didn't offer much in the way of choice, but Garrus eventually settled on a modest set of Agent I armour, a blue and grey number which, according to Gil, 'really brought out his cold, soulless eyes'. One of those eyed was then covered by a visor the turian had found and instantly fallen in love with.

Gil was a smartass, Garrus was learning that much, but as he equipped himself with a Kessler III pistol and was informed that it 'matches his mandibles', he realised that working with Gil might be not so bad.

Just as Garrus was picking out a new omni-tool, however, Gil's came to life, alerting him to a new message and wiping the joking smile off his face as he read it.

"Garrus, we've got a case. Meet me in the briefing room in ten minutes." Was all he said as he hurried out of the room.

"But, I don't even know where that – and he's gone."

* * *

_-A/N- OMG, plot! Yeah, the story finally kicks in here, and the chapters will be a bit longer than this afterwards so that I can actually advance the plot, and leave some feedback if I went wrong anywhere - I can only improve if you tell me what you didn't like._


	3. Chapter 3 - Gilbert's Briefing

After several embarrassing minutes of wandering around the C-Sec lobby, an asari matron - a detective, Garrus was informed by the badge on her belt - took pity on the confused turian. She kindly escorted him towards the briefing room upon request. As they set off, Garrus couldn't help but notice how _blue _she looked, the charmingly deep colour sharply contrasted by the myriad of elaborate white markings all over her face.

While the two continued onwards, he couldn't help his eyes from venturing… 'downwards' and admiring the asari's athletic physique, her curvaceous yet toned core supported by her ample hips swaying in time with her purposeful strides. They reached a large set of double doors, black and grey metal glittering with the artificial light of the foyer.

"And here it is."

It was a few moments before Garrus realised that they had stopped, and it was even longer before his gaze broke away from 'the view'. His eyes finally rested on the Asari's, and found a menacing scowl in place of the gentle smile that had been there earlier.

"What were you just looking at? Were you just _staring_ at my…" she growled through clenched teeth, the irate edge in her voice audible as she stepped closer to him.

"Me? I… uh, well–" was all Garrus could get out before the asari's hand, glowing blue, flew across his face. A biotic slap. Stinging pain flashed over him.

"Typical male pig. I'd expect this from a human, but not a turian." She spat with disgust, before turning and heading back the way they came. Garrus stood in the briefing room doorway, rubbing his mandible and gawping at what had just happened.

_Yeah, I really need to stop doing that, _he decided, unaware of the cerulean Salarian creeping up behind him, eliciting a startled reaction when Gil broke the silence.

"So you've met Detective D'Tora then. Good for you! Or not actually," Gil corrected, employing a mock thoughtfulness in his tone. "she only gives people one chance at a first impression, Garrus, you're probably going to be stuck with the 'ice queen' persona forever. It seems you 'done goofed', in the words of Detective McCauley, and remember: she can break your arms with her mind!" Gil chuckled wryly, "but I digress; you have a briefing to sleep through!" said the Salarian as he gestured Garrus through the large doors behind them.

* * *

The white plastic chair made an unyielding creak underneath Garrus' armour as the turian settled in for his first briefing. The room was large, structured like a cathedral of sorts with rows of the same chair as beneath Garrus throughout the room, and a channel in the middle for people to enter and exit at will. There was also a high ceiling and tall walls covered in a sterile white paint. It gave the room a certain disconnected, professional feel, probably designed to look unremarkable and allow officers to disassociate themselves.

_Must come in handy for the homicide briefings, _Garrus mentally remarked, as Gil took up a position on the elevated section at the front of the room. Messing around with his omni-tool and a terminal built into the lectern, the salarian gestured to the projector screen mounted on the wall behind him.

Just as Garrus realised he was the only person in the briefing room other than Gil, the doors slid open and in walked a turian in a sophisticated red, blue and brown shirt. He was quickly recognised by Garrus as Executor Pallin – his new boss. At the sight of the head of C-Sec, Gil jumped up from his slouch, standing perfectly straight with his eyes dead forward.

"Executor."

"As you were, Melarn. I'm not here about the coffee machine; I'm here to explain to Vakarian how C-Sec works, and to see if he pays attention in briefings."

Gil exhaled in relief, turning back to the terminal and hurriedly setting up the briefing, as Pallin idly strolled through the channel. He pretended to look for a place to sit in the vacant room, but settled for the seat next to Garrus, muttering 'this will do' as Garrus groaned inwardly.

"Executor."

"Vakarian. Vakarian." The Executor repeated, as if mulling the name over in his mind, trying to discern whether Garrus was related to royalty or vagrants just by its sound. "A well-respected name; I've heard great things about it. Your father, Flavus, was one of the best C-Sec had, as I recall, so let's see if you can pay attention." Garrus grimaced at the mention of his father, as Pallin continued. "C-Sec's investigative department has six divisions: Burglary, Robbery, Contraband, Homicide and Vice. Burglary investigates petty theft and home invasions, while Robbery deals with Grand Larceny and theft rackets." Pallin let it sink in, and continued. "Contraband monitors the black market, Homicide investigates murder and Vice, should you be reassigned to it, will have you investigating drugs, prostitution and occasionally overlapping with contraband. You can be promoted, but spirits help me," the Executor lowered his voice into a chilling whisper, leaning closer to Garrus, "if you step out of line, not only will you be relegated to some shitty detail, I will have your mandibles ripped off and fed to you. Do things by. The. Book. Vakarian. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Executor." _What a hardass!_ Garrus' mind indignantly chimed.

"That also means to do your paperwork, because if not you will be – ah, the briefing! Pay attention, Vakarian."

And with that, Garrus' focus returned to the projector screen as the lights dimmed and Gil cleared his throat, preparing to deliver his much delayed briefing.

"Now, in burglary, we have been dealing with a string of burglaries in the districts close to the Presidium. They all share a _Modus Operandi_: a charming Turian and a friend turn up at the victim's door as 'health officials', showing no ID and enter. They inspect the property, checking every room, noting things in a datapad and recommend a fumigation take place. The victims usually go through the company recommended by the 'officials', who erect a tent over the property. After forcing the occupants to leave, the tent is gone within two days and all valuables are missing, presumed stolen."

Gil prodded at his omni-tool for a few seconds, and a slide of a barefaced Turian looking smug appeared.

"This is our suspect: _Rolan Quarn_, well-known con man, thief and fraudster. We know it's him; he sent us an E-Mail bragging. The problem is," Gil sighed, "He's a vet at this; he has so many aliases, fake addresses and proxy companies that we can't nail him down before he sets up another company and flies back under the radar." At that last comment, Gil rubbed the back of his head nervously, much to Pallin's audible disapproval.

"Get on with it Melarn!" heckled the The Executor, in a manner unbecoming of a senior officer.

"So, today Vakarian, we're going to a crime scene with the same MO, and hopefully we'll find something." Gil finished abruptly, ending the slide show with a holo of a big two story house near where he had boarded the shuttle to work.

As the lights came back up, The Executor rose from his seat, giving Garrus a solemn nod before leaving the room. And with that, Garrus noticed; Gil visibly relaxed his whole body.

"You okay, Gil?" the Turian inquired.

"I- I'll be fine. Let's go Garrus." Gestured Gil, as the two left the room and headed towards the parked skycars outside the academy, with Garrus making bounding steps towards the exit, eager to begin his first investigation at C-Sec.

* * *

_-A/N-There we are! The first chapter I'm really happy with. Next up, the first case's beginning, and maybe its end, if I get enough time. If you didn't like this chapter, why not? Tell me._


	4. Chapter 4- The Investigation

The ride didn't take long – Gil's standard issue skycar was surprisingly fast – but the two detectives appreciated what was likely to be their last piece of downtime before the investigation began. The journey also gave Garrus a chance to ask why the Executor mentioning 'the coffee machine' had made Gil so tense.

"There's actually a not-so-funny story about that, Garrus-" Gil began sarcastically.

"Really?" The Turian's subvocals created a mocking tone that was clearly lost on the Salarian, who continued anyway.

"Yeah, but to cut it short: I needed something to perk me up so I could get through all my paperwork that night, and… I don't remember the details, but Chellick says I got pretty crazy."

"How crazy?" Garrus replied inquisitively, but before Gil could answer, the skycar touched down just outside the two-storied house from the briefing.

"The crime scene! Let's go, before you find out more about my 'dark past'" Gil deflected in an attempt to be ominous, earning a chuckle from Garrus instead.

The two exited the skycar and advanced up the sweeping driveway leading to the scene, taking in the sights of the neighbourhood, aptly named _Tranquillity Lane_, that Garrus had passed through earlier that day. It was oddly quiet at this time, when all the children were at their private schools, learning to be as superior as the Asari councillor, and the parents were in their cushy diplomat jobs, working 5-hour days betraying their constituents.

_Quarn certainly picks the right targets._

* * *

True to the briefing the house fit the MO, and from what the owner (an Elcor diplomat) had told Garrus during his questioning, it seemed Quarn was uncatchable, despite his apparently massive ego.

"Angrily: The cad had even asked me if I wanted insurance for any, Disgustedly: 'damage caused'."

"Ok, sir. Did he leave any contact details, an address perhaps?" Garrus was stretching now, and he knew it.

"Barely concealed rage: Of course not, Detective. Do you think me to be stupid enough to not inform you had such an event occurred?"

Garrus was quick to apologise and continued.

* * *

The 'interrogation' continued in that fashion for a while longer, with Garrus learning nothing new, until Gil came back from his evidence sweep upstairs, and pulled Garrus to one side.

"We didn't find anything useful upstairs, but here's the bag if you want to look through yourself," the Salarian whispered, handing Garrus a grey pouch, "we need to wrap this up and report back to Pallin."

"Sure. Okay. I'm getting nowhere with this guy anyway."

Garrus opened the pouch to find several pieces of paper, scrunched into balls and with some rips in the sheets.

_Now there's something you don't see every day,_ our hero internally remarked at the sight of the ancient documenting method. Datapads were almost universally used to store information in 2178, as paper degraded much quicker than metal and holograms, but for a cost, paper mailing was available by request. Straightening out the sheets, the Turian detective fond none he read of any interest, although he had to brush up on his Asari to actually read the document as, unlike holographic interfaces, paper _wasn't_ compatible with his translator. The last sheet, however, did pique his interest, and read:

**_Dear Mr Kedunne,_**

**_As per your last e-mail, we will now send all future updates regarding your policy by courier, and on paper. We are also delighted to inform you that you have successfully switched coverage plans from Basic to Comprehensive. At the cost of an extra 2 credits a month, all of your personal possessions are now covered for fire, theft, water damage and misplacement for a cash lump sum of 20,000 credits payable upon closure of a relevant C-Sec investigation._**

**_Fortune be upon you,_**

**_Fedori Risk Analysis & Insurance_**

_ The son of a bitch._

* * *

"So, Mr. Kedunne, when the Turian offered you insurance, did you take it?" Perhaps Garrus should've given Rolan more credit; this seemed like a victimless crime. He would offer his victims insurance so that they didn't

"No." The first thing Garrus noticed was the lack of a modifier. _Something's up,_ he realised. Add that to the blatant lie the Elcor had just pulled, and Garrus was mad.

"So why did you just change your policy with Felori RAI on the day he came to see you!? Do you know what I think, Kedunne? You've been working with him since he came to your door," Garrus accused, advancing towards the Elcor until there was little space between them, "and that's six years, Kedunne. On top of that, you'd be looking for a job the minute you got out. Say goodbye to _Tranquillity Lane_ and the Presidium. "

"With restraint: You are correct Detective. I worked with Quarn."

"Then where can we find him? You tell us this and we can cut your sentence to an unofficial warning." A cerulean Salarian offered, flying into the space between Garrus and the Elcor. Gil's interruption had startled Garrus, but he nodded in agreement and levelled his gaze back on the hulking alien opposite him.

"I do not know." The Elcor replied, eyes on the floor.

"BULLSHIT KEDUNNE! Tell me now, or I will feed you my lunch!" Garrus retorted, his mandibles gesticulating wildly and his voice flanging as he leant closer to the large creature.

The elcor stepped back and winced, contemplating the image the detective had presented: an elcor spluttering around, his corruption burning from the inside out as the allergic reaction ravaged his body. "Cautiously: You make a compelling argument, Detective. Despondently: You will find Quarn at the Starlight Lounge."

* * *

The Starlight Lounge was something of an institution on Zakera ward; it had been founded in the year 725 CE by Elani Contari, a highly-decorated Asari commando, to mark the end of the Krogan rebellions. The matron soon won over the more affluent population of Zakera with the promise of good drinks, classy entertainment and a dash of her charming hospitality. When she passed on, and her daughter Tevana took over, the Lounge continued to provide great service, including a line-up of almost exclusively Asari singers, in order to cosy up to emissaries give the rich another area in which they could ignore the taxpayer.

A remarkable story.

Rolan Quarn thought so too, reflecting at his table, drink by his hand, and basking in the leisure his line of work allowed him until he noticed a waitress approaching him, probably to collect on his tab. A perfect time to apply his craft. Activating his omni-tool and bringing it up to the side of his face, he yelled,

"No, Sparatus! You must tell the Primarch to sign the treaty now! It is _vital_ to the council that these measures go ahead unobstructed! It would _devastate _Asari high command!"

"General Septimus?" Quarn turned to look at the waitress as she nervously tentatively approached him, and then waved her off.

"Yes, to obstruct this would allow the Batarians to pillage the Traverse; there would be unimaginable consequences. Do the words 'political shit-storm' mean anything to you?" The con man resumed, feigning irritation with the waitress and the imaginary councillor on the other end of his call..

The waitress took the hint and left, muttering obscenities as she went. Quarn smiled lightly as he watched her go.

* * *

Gil didn't spend too much time getting the skycar to The Lounge; he was anxious to get to Quarn before he could leave. He'd already warned Garrus about Quarn's skills, but took the time to remind Garrus of what the barefaced Turian could do as a con artist. The list included, but was not limited to: accessing restricted areas, taking people's money and leaving them smiling, assuming another's identity and job, and even one case of escaping C-Sec by pretending to be a waxwork figurine.

When our two intrepid investigators reached The Lounge, Garrus was stunned at the error of his original presumptions regarding the establishment. It was a large, rectangular building covered in a variety of bright fusion lights and holo-patterns, giving the place the feel of a classy nightclub even during the citadel's day cycle.

Garrus soon found that the inside was just as luxurious as the outside; glossy purple walls with sleek Thessian curves moulded into them surrounded an elevated stage for cabaret, swamped with tables in a central viewing area, and two raised viewing areas at either wing. Once he had taken in the setting, he noticed two things immediately.

The beautiful Asari singer crooning to the bar and radiating sex appeal.

Rolan Quarn.

The detective turned to Gil, who made gestures indicating to circle Quarn at either side and corner him at his table in the right wing. They moved simultaneously, eyes flicking between each other and Quarn, the two of them getting closer until Garrus finally came down in the chair opposite Quarn, with Gil at the barefaced Turian's side.

Quarn nodded at Garrus, and then turned to Gil. "Officer Melarn. We meet at last; I believe you have been in pursuit of my acquaintance for some time. But do you mind telling me whom you have brought with you today?"

"This is my partner, Garrus Vakarian," Said Gil, with a nod of acknowledgement towards Garrus.

"Vakarian, hmmm? How fortuitous. Your father never caught me, you know."

Garrus scowled at the mention of his father, as Gil began applying the handcuffs to Quarn. "Rolan Quarn, you are under arrest for six counts of burglary, six counts of obtaining money through deception, three counts of evading arrest and six counts of impersonating a Citadel Council official. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say…" Garrus' mind drifted away from the arrest, joining his eyes in focusing on the lovely Asari singing, her deep violet skin blending into the stage curtains while her voice soothed all the tension in his body, while also making it tingle at the Goosebumps all over him.

_Spirits, now that's a woman._

* * *

It may interest the reader to know that the arrest came through cleanly, and it eventually transpired that the Elcor diplomat was a part of Rolan's crew from the first burglary, pointing out affluent targets for Quarn to rip off. The two had only been caught as Quarn and his friend decided they'd do the same gig to themselves, and claim the insurance. They'd hoped to keep the information of the extranet by using paper mail, but didn't hide the documents well enough.

If Garrus knew how many forms there were to fill out back at the academy, he would've probably let Quarn go.

* * *

_Final tally_

Rolan Quarn: Seven to fifteen years in a mid-security Traverse prison.

Sensu Kedunne: Six years in a C-Sec prison, and barred from the Presidium for life.

Gilbert Melarn: Clearance record increased from 67.785% to 68%.

Garrus Vakarian: First case a success. Ability to be re-evaluated in coming weeks.

* * *

_-A/N- There we go! First case is a success. Things will get a bit darker from here on out, and Garrus won't always win. Please review and tell me what you liked or didn't like in this chapter._

_P.S: If it reads like Garrus is an inveterate womaniser in this story, that's because he is –I wanted a flawed protagonist. _


	5. Chapter 5 - The Slippery Pole

_-A/N- The end of the first case! This chapter is probably a bit of an info dump, and I needed to show the passage of time somehow. Enjoy!_

* * *

After Garrus was done booking Quarn and Kedunne, he began his paperwork. He had spent two hours going over the datapads and filling in warrant forms when he decided to finish at home. He leant across from his desk, craning his neck to find his cerulean comrade.

"Hey Gil!" The turian's flanging voice reverberated in the empty office. "I'm gonna head out for the night. You?"

"Nah, you go on ahead, Garrus; I gotta finish this before Pallin asks for it. You know how it is."

"Just don't touch the coffee machine." Came a voice from somewhere behind the pair.

With a wry chuckle, Garrus got up and left his partner to his caffeine-free fate, leaving the gleaming white walls of the academy and stepping out into the well-lit night cycle.

* * *

While making his way home, in the plaza just out front of the academy, Garrus spotted a small gaggle of colonial tourists circling around a tour guide. They were absorbing their surroundings with awe, a mixture of fear and excitement in their eyes as they thought they were getting the real deal.

_What idiots. _

When most came to the Citadel, they wanted to go to places from the vids. The Presidium. The Council Chambers. But they wanted to see 'the reality' of the station too; they wanted to experience the Wards, the 'cultural heart of the galaxy'. So, they paid buckets of creds for 'escorted tours' of the Wards during their visits, where they would gawk at the endless spirit of the poor from behind their bullet-proof buses, asari wine spritzers and adrenaline coursing through their veins from standing outside a police station.

* * *

Hopping off his shuttle, Garrus elected to take a walk through _Tranquillity Lane_, in memory of his first arrest. As he glanced at the big houses with fancy cars and actual gardens, he felt unmoved. Thanks to his efforts, the high and mighty got to sleep soundly at night in their million-credit homes, their wooden tables and Turian art safely locked up in their hundred-thousand-credit vaults.

The fact was, and Garrus knew, the victims hadn't cared about their valuables. They'd wanted the peasants that had dared to infiltrate their ivory tower, far above the filth of rest of Zakera, captured by C-Sec, the servants of the privileged. They wanted them thrown to the dogs for daring to rise above the rest of the shit the public wallowed in.

He would've loved to have seen their faces when they realised one of their own was in on it.

_Where am I? Have I been walking this whole time?_

Garrus glanced around, gathering his bearings, and soon found himself looking up at a very familiar façade. The Starlight Lounge. The fusion lights and holo-patterns beckoning him closer, he decided that his filling out his reports could use a drink or two.

During the investigation, he hadn't taken the time to appreciate the beauty of the place. Elegant mood lighting, welcoming backdrop and friendly staff who, much to Garrus' delight, would happily set up a bar tab. After telling the bartender to 'surprise him', he took the chair he had sat in earlier, using the right wing's elevation to get a better view of the singer he had ogled on his last visit.

She was still so truly blue, the light capturing the contours of her body, encapsulating her very soul in a way that made her seem like a goddess. A quick glance at the crowd would've told him she had other male admirers – and they looked like regulars.

_I wonder if there's a correlation there… _

But her song was different this time; still in asari, but… darker. More sombre. It seemed like a song of mourning. For a few minutes he observed, captivated by how a woman's voice (of all things) could bring a room to a standstill. While others sat with baited breath and gaping mouths, he watched on in quiet admiration as the blue goddess closed out the number with a crescendo that made Garrus tingle with… Longing? Hope? Lust?

Then, his drink arrived in the hand of a chirpy human waitress with a fake smile and even faker tits. She put his drink on the table, bending down as she did so, probably trying to flirt her way to a tip. It was typical in a joint full of middle-aged men with cushy jobs and trophy wives.

Something had to ruin his evening, and the human trying to hump her way to a credit chit didn't help until he had an idea.

"Say, who was that singer up on stage just now?" Garrus inquired. A flash of rejection crossed the human's face, quickly covered by her mask of customer service as she replied, "That's Elsa Contari, the owner's daughter. _Real_ talented." Garrus didn't have to be a detective to notice the envy in her tone.

"Really? Thanks for the information. Here's a tip."

The waitress' smile grew larger. "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your Thessian sunset!" She finished, as she turned and paced away, muttering, "the blue bitch" as she went.

"A wha…" He replied, just too late. He looked down at his drink. In haste to sit down he must've ordered some… _purple _cocktail with an umbrella.

_The trophy wives must come here too._

He pulled the concoction up to his mouth, and cautiously took a sip.

The last thing Garrus remembered was that it tasted like Tupari.

* * *

The next few months went by slowly, with Garrus and Gil closing more and more cases. After Quarn had been shut down, other scum had tried to fit into the idiot-shaped hole in mass burglaries. None of them were as subtle as Quarn, usually cracking a window and running with some art. As his clearance rate increased, so did his reputation, a few calling him 'Garrus', instead of 'Vakarian'. It was a small step, but it had meant a lot.

The biggest benefit to burglary was that all the victims lived near The Starlight, giving him more time to drool at Elsa, probably conjuring some delusion where she picks him out of the crowd. It was pathetic really, him gazing across the stage, as if she were some kind of princess.

He had also begun to notice Pallin watching him at the academy, following him closely. Too closely. He was following Garrus like a fox would a stray deer.

When the Executor came to him, chest puffed out in arrogance, he didn't know what to expect. He'd just shut down some human fool named Arnett, and he was riding high. Until then.

"Vakarian," Pallin started, earning a glare from the detective, "you may not have noticed, but for the past few weeks, I have been keeping a close eye on you."

Garrus rolled his eyes. "Really?" He muttered sardonically.

"Yes. And I have come to the conclusion that you're not cut out for burglary."

Garrus froze, as his mandibles widened in shock. Why should he be fired? He was nowhere near as bad as people like Gavorn. "Why? I have the third highest clearance rate in the depart-"

"You will be reassigned to robbery."

"ROBBERY!?" He replied, incredulous at the decision.

"Of course. You can handle a gun, can't you Vakarian? Then this should be no problem. Report to Detective McCauley in the morning."

As the Executor turned and walked away, Garrus found he could only shake his head.

_Great The heroics squad. Just what I need._

* * *

_-A/N- Movin' on up! Garrus is now on the robbery squad. As his experiences with crime change, so will his outlook, personality and habits; so if you think this Garrus isn't bleak enough for noir, keep in mind that this is just the beginning._


	6. Chapter 6 - Gearing Up

Maybe he was old-fashioned, but Garrus wasn't one for dodging bullets to protect a vault of someone else's money. Someone else's _insured_ money. But the Robbery squad was where he was assigned, and that was where he'd go.

_Pallin's set me up._

As he reported to his new partner in the armouries, Garrus contemplated the reasoning behind the Executor's actions. To get rid of him? No, his clearance rate was well-above average. To show his abilities as a detective? No, not much investigative work went into Robbery. To see how he worked with guns? It was possible, he decided, as he continued towards his destination.

Turning the corner into the gunroom, his sight fell to a human male, hunched over a work bench and feverishly tinkering with small mass accelerator parts. The human was tall for his species, with a stylish black hairdo combed up and back, accompanied by a matching goatee.

On the bench was a disassembled Stinger VII, with a modified ammo block and a strange addition to the heat sink.

"What's that?" Inquired Garrus, peering over the human's shoulder.

Without looking back, the human replied, "My Stinger VII. Ammo block VI makes squash projectiles for more impact force. High-calibre barrel and overclocked targeting VI means higher velocity for rounds and better precision at the cost of heat absorption – but I've got that covered," he picked up the bizarre heat sink. "See this? It's actually six heat sinks. When one overheats, it cycles to the next. The whole pistol's calibrated to one shot per sink, and the first cools off by the time I've fired my sixth shot. A whole cycle."

"Why use such an elaborate system for heat absorption? Surely you could achieve the same thing with one sink, right?"

"Right, but with less power per shot; this way, I don't have to worry about overheating due to high firepower. It side-steps the issue. Normally one shot would short out the whole clip, and I'd have to wait to fire again. Alliance telemetry data suggests that firefights are won by the side that can maintain a constant rate of fire for extended periods of time. I don't have to wait to cool down because I've tricked the gun out so much, and I get massive stopping power for each shot." He finally pivoted to face the turian.

It clicked in Garrus' mind. "Yeah, you can put more rounds down range at a consistent rate, and you nullify the heat damping problems high-calibre barrels normally produce. Impressive."

The human's face took on an amused grin as he shrugged, head tilted. "Exactly. It's not practical to mass-produce, though. Cost me nine months' salary and took a mountain of eezo."

Garrus' mandibles spread in surprise as the human continued. "You're my new partner, Garrus Vakarian, right? I'm Neil McCauley, Deputy head of Robbery. The Captain is Felix Caelius. Hard-nosed. Good turian. I hear you're some kind of golden child, that dear old dad was some kind of C-Sec big shot."

McCauley's comment earned a grumble from Garrus, along with a non-committal grunt about how 'he didn't want to talk about it'.

"Anyway, I'd better take you to get briefed. Come with me so you don't run into D'Tora again; I would hate for someone to file a sexual harassment case against you before you got into the field."

With a groan, Garrus jogged up to McCauley, and fell into rhythm with his stride. An idea in his head, the turian showed his pistol to the human.

"Any chance you could make my gear like yours?"

"How so? The VIs? The rounds?"

"That weird heat sink thing."

"The revolver thing? Sure, but not with that hunk of junk – Kessler III right? I've got a Striker V laying around I used as a tester. It's got all the parts already, the quartermaster just has to assemble it. I'll put in the call. I'll get you a new kinetic barrier generator, too. You'll need it.

* * *

During his time in Burglary, Garrus had seen a lot of briefings. They were never as empty as his first, but were never as full as the Robbery squad room's briefing area – 'the drawing board', as they called it. Almost identical to Burglary's briefing room, the only difference was the presence of a large black board on a side wall with white cloud-like drawings and words in human (English, to be precise) scrawled on it.

_'The old ways is the best ways', huh?_

McCauley stepped up to the lectern, using his hands to hush the background noise of officers chatting in their chairs. Clearing his throat, the Deputy Captain straightened himself and pointed to someone behind Garrus.

"Thrace, gimme a report on that 211 in Shin Akiba!"

"It wasn't them, sir, but it's a code four now."

_'Them'?_

"Good. Doklan! The grand theft auto ring?"

"Our CI's gone dark, sir. He may be rogue, but he's under surveillance and hasn't tried anything. Our mole's still got some pull though, and she's chasing down leads."

"Alright. Everyone, get outta here and work your cases. Remember to follow up on any _Heat _leads you got. We wanna nail these bastards as soon as they show their crafty heads, got it? Break!"

At once, every officer except Garrus stood and began to leave. The controlled auditory chaos of individual discussions returned, throwing him into a state of confusion at what to do. Then, from the front, came McCauley marching over to him.

With a flick of a wrist, he gestured for Garrus to follow him out back to the armoury, where he picked up his new pistol – well, it was more of a hand cannon – and installed his new kinetic barriers. They were fifty percent stronger, and with the user's input, could redirect power to give more protection to certain extremities such as the legs.

_Or the head. Useful._

For all the reassurances of his new gear, he still knew the deal. Being at Robbery was still a death sentence; he was just moving himself to the back of the line. At least now he could die being a pain in the ass.

* * *

The two headed exited the academy, moving to the carport, when Garrus stopped. He'd seen McCauley's skycar.

Sleek, aerodynamic curves formed a smooth trim on the back and sides that radiated class, while the vibrant red paintjob gave a sporty look to the vehicle. It was discreetly fitted with a retractable roof, reinforced armour plating and hardened kinetic barriers to shield it from the hell it saw on a weekly basis.

"Nice, huh? She's a real beauty: souped-up mass effect core, inertial dampers to make the convertible aspect viable, redundant field generators to re-initialise the shields and double cup holders. You would not believe how much she costs me in repairs and repainting."

"She?"

"Amanda." McCauley gestured in the direction of the vehicle. "Let's go kick some criminal ass!"

"Hmm."

The two hopped into the skycar and took off, kicking up dust in their wake.

Turning in his seat to face McCauley, Garrus asked, "And whose ass are we kicking, exactly?"

"One of the greatest heist men I've ever had coffee with, plus his two of his buddies."

* * *

_-A/N- I realise this has taken ages, and I'm sorry. It's been difficult to motivate myself to write regularly recently and it was hard finding the words for this chapter. I can't guarantee more frequent updates though. In terms of longevity, don't worry; this won't be like Burglary, where Garrus defeats a thorn in the department's side in one day – there will be effort involved. _


	7. Chapter 7 - Eighty six point four

_-A/N- I owe an explanation for this one. It was my first ever action scenes, so I procrastinated like crazy – like, so much. I eventually got it done, and I'm pretty happy with where it is. By the way, this whole series of chapters (Robbery) is a reference minefield. You get a cookie if you can PM me with all the references found in this chapter; I count about 12. Relatively long chapter (for me) ahead, where we finally get some action! You excited?_

* * *

"Run that by me again. You had _coffee _with a criminal?!"

"Yeah. I didn't know who he was, alright? He called me out. I found out later that he'd lured me out so that they could gather Intel on me and the rest of thetask force."

" 'They?' "

"You've never heard of _the_ _Heat_? The bank robbers?"

"No."

"Why did you ask to join Robbery then?"

"I didn't."

"Right, there are these three guys who pull heists. Call themselves _the Heat._ Real pros. I'm talking inside knowledge, crowd control, sleep gas, Spectre grade explosives and looped vid cam footage. They all use aliases: Michael, Franklin and Trevor. Michael's the guy who called me out, he's definitely human. Real name's Joe Barbaro. No known address, though it's likely he uses fake IDs to get around. The others are more hidden, but probably ex-military. The weird thing is, witnesses from their jobs say they're multi-species. Could you imagine a krogan calling himself Franklin?" A light chuckle escaped McCauley as he continued. "It doesn't add up."

"We got lucky once; a patrolman was doing his beat when he saw them in a store. Had just enough time to call it in before they got him right between the eyes. Cold-blooded murder. These are guys that'll rock and roll at the drop of a hat.

"Add that to their technical expertise and knowledge of security systems and these guys are making a mockery of the whole department. Then, the Executor sends me some _shitheel_ – no offence – who doesn't even read the paper to help me collar the most sophisticated larcenists ever to grace the station? The kind that can steal from the council and escape in a shootout? Give me a break! They even know our 211 response times for godsakes!" Letting out an exasperated sigh, the human returned his focus to driving, much to Garrus' relief.

"Wait, they robbed _the Council?"_

"Yeah, they hit both Tevos' and Valern's vaults in the same night, and left a calling card in Sparatus' presidium estate. Took three million creds worth of jewellery and antiques."

Garrus' subvocals rumbled in a gesture very similar to a human whistle as he fired up his omni-tool, ready to compose a message.

**To: Executor Pallin (venarilovemachine-csechq )**

**Sir,**

**Due to my recent reassignment, you have placed me in the Robbery squad with Detective McCauley, but I would like to ask: why me?  
Surely there are many other detectives in C-Sec with more experience and more chance of success than me.**

**From: Garrus Vakarian (scopedanddropped-csecaca ) **

Two minutes later, a reply pinged his omni-tool.

**To: Garrus Vakarian (scopedanddropped-csecaca)**

**It wasn't my decision, Vakarian. Some higher-ups willed it, and so it was. Unless you have friends in the Citadel Council, it was probably your father pulling strings.**

**From: Executor Pallin (venarilovemachine-csechq) **

_Higher than the Executor? Maybe… no, it couldn't be._

"Urgh." Groaned Garrus, barely hiding his frustration.

"What's the matter, Garrus?" McCauley questioned as he brought up his omni-tool .

"I can't seem to get out from under my dad's shadow. Wherever I go, people always compare us: he was some big damn hero, now I have to live up to the Vakarian name by excelling at law enforcement."

"Why don't you just surpass him? Be more exceptional in every way. That's how I'd prove myself," suggested the human, brown eyes flitting between traffic and his omni-tool's holographic interface.

"How?"

"Well, I'm looking at the C-Sec databanks here. It says that Flavus Vakarian, by retirement, had achieved an 86.4% clearance rate."

"And?"

"Beat it. You become a hero, move up a pay grade, your dad thinks he's influenced you and you've made a name for _Garrus _Vakarian. Win-win-win-win situation. Executor'd probably get off your ass too: no more reassignments. Now we've got a long ride ahead, is there anything you wanna ask me about me, _partner_?"

Startled by the sudden openness of his partner, Garrus' eyes darted around for something to inquire about, if only to break the ice. When he found it, he couldn't unsee it.

_How did I not notice that before?_

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"Oh, this?" The human grabbed at his grey cloth jacket, feeling the fabric in his hands. It looked ancient compared to the polymer coats worn by most humans on the Citadel. "Double breasted jacket. Charcoal Grey. Late twentieth century. Used for formal occasions, but when unbuttoned and worn with a tieless shirt gives off a casual air. You like it?"

"Spirits, no. I just didn't take you as the kind for antique clothing."

"Hey, this isn't antique; it's _vintage. _1995 vintage. I even got that heat sink idea from late nineteenth century handguns, so don't be so quick to judge. 'Antiques' might just save your life."

"Yeah." Garrus drew the phrase out into a long, sarcastic rumbling before asking, "Where are we going?"

"Mensch's, down on Tayseri ward. Following up on a lead about _the Heat_."

"Fair enough."

* * *

Owned by a salarian named Durbin, Mensch's was a quiet little middle-market bar tucked away a level below Tayseri's financial sector. It was a place where the banks' accountants and clerks could all go for a drink in the comfortable privacy of their booths. It was more of a social drinking establishment than a boozing area, and no-one spoke too highly of the proprietor. Garrus soon found out why.

"Look, officers, I don't remember who I heard talking – it was just some guy propping up the bar. Now, if you were to go to Cavanagh's down the street, you might find some bartenders serving red sand who should be put away immediately."

_He's slimier than a lizard… oh, never mind._

"You're just using us to take out your competition!" raged McCauley, as he threatened, "Do you want us to run you in for withholding information vital to an investigation? You won't come out of it looking as smug as you do now." There was a chill in his voice Durbin couldn't pick up.

By now, the usual lunch time crowd were staring intently at the commotion interrupting their midday drink. The onlookers' gaze flitted between the detectives and the owner rapidly, as if watching a tennis match between seasoned veterans.

_If he doesn't talk, the case is done: it'll go down as a failure. Can't let that happen._

In a flash, Garrus was over the bar, holding Durbin with against his drinks rack with one hand, brandishing his pistol in the other.

"Quite frankly Durbin, I don't give a shit about your little pissing contest with Marty Cavanagh. But I _do _carethat you're wasting my time!" shaking the terrified salarian, he continued, "And I _do_ care that you're treating me like a bitch! Do I look like a bitch to you?!"

"N-N-No! No! Please, don't shoot!"

Garrus dropped his voice to a low tenor, his gun still nestled in Durbin's neck. "I don't care what state you're in as long as I get the info, understand?" Durbin shook his head frantically. "Good. So, who did you overhear?"

"It was Bickle! Travis Bickle! Came in here last week, started talking about the heist there last week, says he was on shift when it happened. He works at that jewellery store, Vangelico, on level 38, I swear!"

Stepping away, Garrus holstered his pistol. "This information better be good, Durbin, or I'm coming back for you."

With the salarian pleading and nodding feverishly, Garrus turned and exited.

* * *

The two made their way to the stairs to go and pay Bickle a visit, making their way past the bar and independent stores that you'd find that far from the Presidium to the end of block. As they turned the corner, McCauley gave Garrus a nudge, his face a mixture of admiration and consternation.

"What was that back there, Garrus?" the human asked, voice thick with wary curiosity.

"I got results. You were getting nowhere, so I… expedited the process." The response was nonchalant.

"That's an understatement! He's going to need a new change of pants after that Jedi mind trick you pulled."

"A Jedi what?"

"Never mind. Oh, and don't worry; this won't go in my report to the captain. I think the ends justify the means this time."

"I appreciate it, McCauley."

"Call me Neil."

Reaching the top of the stairs, the two paused to examine their surroundings when a priority transmission rung out on their omni-tools.

**"All units, we have a 211 on Tayseri ward, level 42. It's a code three at Irune First Bank on Tayseri, level 42. Sending coordinates."**

Neil surged into action, bounding up the stairs, two at a time, pausing only to turn around and call to his partner.

"Duty calls, Garrus! Let's kick some ass!"

_Great._

* * *

Parked at the base of the steps leading to the massive front doors of the Irune First Bank were several C-Sec squad cars, positioned to act as makeshift cover for the smattering of officers hunched behind them, occasionally popping out to fire off a few shots at the criminals holding the entrance. Garrus could count at least three behind the front's pillars, and ducked behind one of the squad cars as they let off another salvo of mass accelerator rounds. To his left, McCauley was getting a sitrep from one of the uniformed officers on scene.

"What have we got?" The human detective yelled, his voice barely rising above the crack of small arms fire.

"Some amateurs looking for easy money. Took the joint ten, twenty minutes ago? Just walked in, took out the guards and… as far as we can tell, they're working on the vault now." The officer craned his neck, peeking over the aircar and dropping back down a moment later. The sound of bullets on metal met Garrus' ears.

He took the opportunity to figure out the situation. "Do you have a plan for advance?" he asked the officer.

"Since you guys turned up, we have the numbers for one now. Move from car to car, keep your head down and we'll figure out the rest when we get there." the officer responded.

The officer set off in a crouch, McCauley and Garrus following suit. They were covered by suppressing fire from the squad of officers back at the first car. Dashing form car to car, the trio took refuge from the sporadic bursts of assault rifle fire the robbers send out. A couple of times Garrus' new barriers flared, giving him just enough time to dive for the next car, and he actually took a shot in the arm as they got closer to the bank's steps. That pissed him off; whoever these clowns were, he was about done playing soldiers. When they reached the front of the bank, Garrus made a charge for one of the pillars, aligning himself out of the criminals' way, and shouted, "I am Detective Garrus Vakarian, Citadel Security! You are breaking the law on _my _station! You have this one chance to surrender – give your selves up and you will not be killed! …not by me, at least."

The only response he received was the staccato rush of mass-accelerator rounds impacting his pillar.

_Let's see how much the antique can really do._

What happened next was a blur. Garrus emerged from cover, pistol raised, and pulled the trigger. And again. And again. Each round put a man down with impressive force, as the satisfying click of a cycling heat sink rattled through the mind. All he could hear was his own breathing and that same click; all he could feel was the recoil fighting his grip on the tricked-out, poorly-balanced gun – the battle for control beginning anew with every pull of the trigger.

_Never saw me coming._

He moved forward to the bank's doors and looked into the lobby. No civilians. Continuing his advance, he heard muffled shouts from the next room – commanding, frantic shouts.

He moved towards the signs of life, rubbing them out as he went. The room was cleared, and the civilians inside rushed to the exit, but Garrus pushed on to the vault. As Garrus entered vault room, he slid into cover behind an elongated plant housing, similar to those seen in greenhouses, as he evaluated the situation.

He didn't like what he saw.

The vault door was still being drilled, under siege from what looked like a commercial mining laser. There was one scumbag left, using some poor receptionist as a shield in a futile attempt to remain in control of the situation. The woman was crying out; Garrus couldn't understand the garbled shriek, but she certainly wasn't calling for a cocktail.

He focused his breathing, steadying himself to take the shot. He wouldn't leave cover until he could calm down. A few moments passed, and Garrus' hitched breaths became measured gulps of air as he steeled himself the make the mo–

"Put the girl down, now!" shouted McCauley, from the doorway.

"Go to hell, copper! Now way am I–" the robber was cut off as Garrus took his shot. It was close, but the girl fell to the side, unharmed. The last criminal collapsed, blood seeping from hole in his skull.

_Doesn't do anything for the floor's marble aesthetic._

"Impressive!" Garrus felt an arm on his shoulder as McCauley caught up. "You know, I had my doubts, Garrus. But now… well, look: I think you were the right man for the job."

"It doesn't feel like it." The turian's subharmonics were despondent.

"Yeah well, it never… Hey! What's up with your arm?" McCauley turned his attention to the hole in Garrus' arm, saturated in medi-gel.

The turian straightened. "I'm fine, Neil; your upgrades were a lot more necessary than I thought."

"So I see. Right, the uniforms can secure the scene, call in a code four and all that crap. We have to file our reports, and then I can get you a drink and a doctor. Let's go."

"And Bickle?"

"He can wait."

* * *

**_From: venarilovemachine-csechq  
To: valern-ccouncil, tevos-ccouncil, sparatus-ccouncil  
Subject: FW: FW: Report on 211 at Tayseri 42  
Message: Ask you requested, the latest update on Vakarian._**

**_Incident report: no. 5126708  
Incident Code: 211  
Status: Code Four  
Reporting Officer: Det. Neil McCauley  
Desk Captain/Recipient: Capt. Felix Caelius_**

**_On the date 18.6.2178, Det. Vakarian and I were involved in a shootout at the Irune First Bank, Tayseri, level 42.A group of would-be thieves used violent force to secure the bank, holding a crowd of civilians and pinning down a squad of uniformed C-Sec officer at the entrance._**

**_Detective Vakarian showed great marksmanship and tactical knowledge, clearing out the building's entrance and rooms with the help of covering fire from Officers Phillips, Hirst and Kintobor as well as myself. Vakarian's ability with a firearm is unmatched; he cleared the structure with alarming efficiency, but shows signs of personal disassociation in combat – while taking risks others may not find acceptable. _**

**_It is my recommendation that he be shortlisted for the combat counselling initiative so that we do not otherwise lose a versatile Officer who would not be wasted in Robbery, Homicide or even the Riot Squad. Furthermore, Det. Vakarian's strong sense of justice but lack of identity regarding its application should be monitored as a potential threat. On a final note, I assert that Vakarian, while an exceptional armed responder, may not fully understand what it means to work in Robbery – and is suited to departments which require more thought, if only for his own safety._**

**_-McCauley_**

* * *

**_C-Sec personnel log 19910623 [Clearance records]_**

**_[ID: 4126] McCauley, N. – 76.5% to 76.6%_**

**_[ID: 12473] Vakarian, K. – 64.375% to 71.2%_**

* * *

_-A/N-Finally! You have no idea how frustrating it was, putting off this action scene for some reason or another. I hate being a slacker. Anyways, we finally get some ACTIOOON! Plus, we get to see a glimpse (I hope) of what is foreshadowed in the description._


	8. Chapter 8 - On The Sauce

Drink after drink. Shot after shot. McCauley tried to keep pace, but Garrus was Turian. Strengthened livers were one of the more useful differentiations his species had taken on; only it wasn't being used to separate Shatha acid from nutrients anymore – nowadays it was an easy win in drinking games.

"Dyuu wann summ mohrr, Garrussss?" McCauley slurred.

"Neil, you're drunk. Go home."

Cole, the barman, chimed in. "Garrus, can you get him to his car? I think autopilot can do the rest."

"Are you sure? He's not very… lucid right now."

"It's Saturday tomorrow, right? You don't work Saturdays, and neither does he. I'll cut you a deal: get this guy outta Ms. Contari's club, and your Thessian Sunrises for the rest of the night? On the house."

"Deal."

Turning in his stool, Garrus lifted McCauley's arm over his shoulder, and with a grunt, got him up and moving. There were some struggles, and McCauley nearly pissed on a gaggle of passing Salarian tourists, but the two made it to Amanda after some wobbling on the way.

"Heeeeey babyyyy." drawled the human, falling to his knees and… hugging the skycar?

"Neil, get up. Now."

"Calmm down, Garry. I'll ju–"

His body convulsed as he spewed, green liquid with a stream of red hurtling out of his innards. Taken aback, Garrus hesitated before taking McCauley's keys and opening his car.

"Alright Neil, get in." His tone was more like a parent than a partner.

"Naaw, sawnig…da teenz don' like tha kine-a wearwuuf…"

Garrus cringed. The poor guy was delirious, puking blood and unstable, and he was packing him up and sending him on his sorry way.

_Yeesh. I need a drink._

Garrus straightened and looked back up at the Lounge's bright lights. Elsa had probably finished her set by now, but he judged he could still stay and enjoy the rest of his night without her show.

_You gotta talk to her sometime, Vakarian._

After returning to the bar, Garrus rounded off his night with several more Sunrises, all of them 'gratis'. Probably some sophisticated human word meaning free, in some fancy dialect to confuse the poor. It was symbolic, really, another tactic used by high society to keep their lessers in the figurative dark.

It was getting late, and Garrus knew it. With a grim slowness, the turian rose from his chair and began to depart. Unlike McCauley – whose best reaction to alcohol was to sit in a puddle of his own bile and piss, rambling on – Garrus' drunken state was more subtle. More personal. He became a different kind of man.

Stepping out of the lounge with the uncertainness only drink could afford, Garrus took the right out of the doors and headed through Tranquillity Lane on his way home. Maybe if he got back quick enough, the tenants' committee would get off his back; his 'disruptive behaviour' of coming back drunk five times a week for the past few months had been waking up the rest of the building. Who would they turn him in to exactly? The same witless pricks that ran every slum up and down the Citadel: the Palus mercs.

C-Sec weren't the cops in Garrus' neighbourhood, Palus were. Palus would prosecute 'crimes', 'settle civil disputes' and offer 'protection' all for the low cost of half your income. The bastards in green and white hardsuits had made a name for themselves, and their human-only policy made them popular with upstanding citizens like crime boss Elias Kelham. They were like the villains in a bad mob vid, but they were very much real, and very much criminals. The cop in him clocked it a year ago, but the deadbeat in him didn't give a shit. All signs pointed to the district politicians hiring them for the odd wetwork job in exchange for them standing back while Palus harried the hard-working voter.

Muggings, heists, assassinations, you name it; Palus had their grubby little fingers in it.

As the pristine white blocks of the diplomatic estates became the grubby grey-purple of the Zakera he knew, Garrus took a detour from his usual route home. It could've been the booze, or a simple curiosity that led him astray; he'd never bothered to look around the area, preferring to keep his eyes down and his face intact.

What he saw was unsurprising. Same filthy streets. Same criminals: pimps, burglars, racketeers and the like. Same venal creatures marching past, chins held high, arrogance oozing from their smug faces.

_Same shit, different street._

Awaking form his musing, Garrus found himself striding down an alleyway. Covered in dirt, shit and smelling like a Vorcha's corpse, it was the kind of place you'd expect to see a beating from angry debtors or Palus doing the two-step on some poor Salarian's teeth. Tonight the turian wasn't so lucky; instead he was treated to something more… _carnal_ in nature.

"Get away from me, you creep!"

"Creep? Baby I'm hurt. I'm just looking for a good time; besides, you don't wanna argue with me and my boys do you?"

There she was, a beautiful young Asari being manhandled by the rent-a-clown with a big gun, looking to take more than her money. The two jostled and shook in a grapple as the young maiden attempted to escape.

Without realising it, Garrus had stepped forward.

"Step away from the lady," he ordered.

The two stopped and stared, shocked to see a passer-by intervening. The moment lasted for the briefest of seconds, before the merc snarled, "What're you gonna do? Arrest me?"

"As an agent of Citadel Security," he barked, inching closer, his hand moving to his Stinger, "I am placing you under arrest. Anything you sa–"

The _crack_ from a rifle butt bouncing off Asari skull reverberated against the alley's dingy walls as time seemed to slow. In a split second, Garrus' sidearm was raised at the merc, target sights peacefully drifting over to his head.

_Click._

Once again, the click was all he could hear.

This time was different: everything was slower, like the big scene in an action vid; the colours toned down, imbued with a pale blue tint that made the grubby streets appear frozen; everything felt in place – in the right place.

And for a few moments came a strange kind of harmony.

External sounds returned to his world as he helped the girl up, returning him to the reality of the situation. He didn't know why he'd done it - he'd always hated injustice, was that it? It didn't matter; from that moment he was dead in that town.

"Thank you, thank you so much. He thought I was some–"

"Yeah, yeah. Just get out of here before more show up."

The asari scurried away, almost falling in her haste. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrus saw her duck around the corner and back onto the street.

Breathing deeply, the turian stood tall, turning to venture deeper into the alleyways, moving towards the sound of a military jog headed his way.

_Time to face the music._


End file.
